Disclaimer: Not mine, yadda yadda.
Chapter title: So it begins
"This is… mmmm… annoying. Wake up already you asshole."
Itachi Uchiha blinked. And without strain either, which meant he had probably died some time between his last gift as a brother and… being carried piggy-back by a rather unlikely shinobi. Buildings, people (souls?) and a rather mundane skyscape flitted by, none of it explaining his current method of travel.
"Report." He croaked.
Deidara made a vicious sound that was somewhere between annoyance and a jaded, ho-hum admiration that usually only came about after something had exploded.
"We're dead, you fuckwit. And death's as much of a bitch as life was." There was a vaguely strangled quality to his voice. "I'm a long-range fighter, mmkay? This sword shit is not my crap. I save your ass this one time, you beat up chumps until I figure out how to make art again, um?"
"We're dead." Itachi stated. Useless, but with Deidara, useless usually elicited more information. While interesting, the terrorist's report was not the sort of concise explanation that the shinobi appreciated. Not that Deidara was a typical ninja in any respect.
"I know!" The blond hissed. "You'd think that a stand-up guy like me would go to somewhere artistic. But noooo…"
Personally, Itachi had been expecting somewhere with fire and brimstone. He would take this particular incarnation over that. So far.
Maybe.
After some cajoling (which, for Itachi, meant more repetitious nonsense and some vague silences that Deidara obligingly leaped in to fill) he learned that they were either caught in an elaborate genjutsu or that Deidara's somewhat colourful description of the afterlife was correct.
Itachi made a few mental notes as Deidara continued to rush through the city streets. One: death was similar to life in that sustenance of various sorts was required. It was possible to 'die' again from various causes: lack of nutrition, blood, bodyheat, etc. Two: 'shinigami' were an authoritarian police force not unlike ANBU, distinguished by the presence of bladed weapons. Three: they were being chased by theses shinigami for reasons unknown.
Four: he had a bladed weapon.
He examined it was some interest. If Deidara's musings were correct, it was somehow a symbol of status and prestige. He was not certain why Deidara had not simply taken it from him but had rather carted him along with it. It appeared rather nondescript: the sheathe was approximately a meter long, the hilt plain and unelaborated. A serviceable weapon.
But not his first choice.
He tried to activate the sharingan. As he suspected, nothing happened. He attempted a few discrete jutsu but none of that seemed to be working either.
So be it.
"Let me down."
"Finally." Deidara exclaimed, more-or-less tossing him off. "You're heavy, um. My arms would have fallen off carrying you further, yeah."
As Itachi had known Deidara to have beaten a kage-level shinobi, this was a somewhat absurd statement.
"Have you attempted engaging in combat with these shini-"
"Oh hells yeah." Vicious, gleeful smile that bespoke of blood and smoking craters. "And most of them are… mmmm… weak as sissies. But there's this crazy guy with bells who will not give up-"
Itachi realized that there was, somewhat far away, a billowing cloud of dust that appeared to be knocking aside buildings. It wasn't particularly fast by shinobi standards but there seemed to be a particularly strong killing intent residing in the middle of that inferno.
He wondered how exactly he had failed to notice it.
"Is that it?"
Deidara sounded somewhat miserable despite all the wanton destruction that was on display. "Yeah, um. That's him for– HOLY F-"
Itachi had merely intended to take his sword out of his sheathe. It would do no good if he could not see the deficiencies of his weapon firsthand before an apparently unavoidable fight.
He had not expected the sword to extend nearly four hundred meters straight forward the moment it was out. Itachi glanced at the unwieldy blade before attempting to lift it straight up. Surprisingly, it complied. The blade felt light as a feather.
The cloud of dust seemed to be re-doubling its efforts to make it to them. At the rate it was going, it'd take it another three minutes and twelve seconds.
"Hnnn," Itachi said critically as he examined the blade. "Are they always this long?"
When the dust cloud had nearly made it to them, Itachi had given up trying to wield his blade. It was too long and too clumsy and it kept on getting stuck on things. Buildings. Clotheslines. Rooftops. Balconies. Indoor swimming pools. And in one memorable case, someone's occupied toilet.
He still hadn't the faintest idea how to return it to his sheathe. He wasn't sure how it'd all fit in their either but he assumed it was one of those being dead things.
Deidara, whose tastes no one could understand, appeared to be doing his best to die laughing.
Again.
A little voice piped up. "You should try making it shorter."
Both shinobi had been S-class missing nin for over ten years. They had weathered horrors and terrors that were beyond imagining and had gained survival instincts to match. Neither had noticed the pintsized midget with candyfloss pink hair approach.
"What the fuck." The Suna shinobi said eloquently.
Itachi blinked. He considered attacking it, but since it apparently wasn't hostile he decided it might be better not to.
"…I will try." He agreed.
The little pink ball clapped her hands, smiling. "Yay! Ken-chan'll be happy! He's been bored for days now."
It was the oddest feeling, but Itachi would have sworn he just heard a collective shiver at the little girl's worlds.
"…bored?" He asked, guardedly. He tried making the blade shrink. The principle could not be so different from chakra shape manipulation if these blades were an extension of the soul which he was starting to suspect the reason why Deidara hadn't merely taken it from him.
"Ken-chan hasn't had anyone to play with since the war ended." The pink-haired girl explained obligingly if somewhat incoherently. "Well, Ichigo was around but he had to leave for something or another." Her face made a little mou of distaste. "He's alwaaaays leaving come to think of it. And the pretty captain always refuses to play." Something like a light dawned on her as she said, in a whispered giggle: "The two of you are pretty too."
Itachi, having once impersonated a woman without using a henge for an extremely important assignment for Pein, found it difficult to refute that statement. Still, it wasn't particularly relevant. He squinted: the blade appeared to be retracting. Slowly. It'd be a serviceable weapon within twenty-four hours. At least.
He considered snapping the blade but as it had gone straight through solid stone, metal and ceramic it was unlikely to be so easily shattered.
"What the fuck." Deidara repeated.
"Manners," Itachi rebuked briefly, an eye on the approaching natural disaster.
After a moment, it finally made it to them in a little jangle of bells. Six foot seven. Ragged haori. Eyepatch. Hair in ridiculous spikes; bells on the top. Aggressively unkempt appearance.
Itachi glanced at Deidara. Deidara rolled his eyes. You'll see.
"Alright you pansy-ass bastards, stop fucking running away and fight like-"
"Ken-chan! They've been waiting for you!"
There was a moment of deathly silence.
'Ken-chan' smiled.
Ne, ne, Ken-chan, can I play with blondie?
